Dancing Lessons
by Anaastas
Summary: Russian-born Natalya Arlovskaya has acted as her older half-brother's hit woman for a good half of her life. There hasn't been an enemy of the mafia that she hasn't been able to take down. That is, until Alfred came along. AmeriBel oneshot, set in the 30s


November 19th, 1936

12:36 a.m.

Hartwich, Washington

Natalya stared intensely at the laughing blonde below her. Her brow furrowed at his overjoyed expression, directed straight at her, and she looked up, facing her boss. "This is the man who's been helping the Vargases?" she asked in their native tongue, giving him a quizzical expression.

Ivan leaned forward and placed a gloved hand on the photograph, pulling it away from Natalya and storing it away in an abused-looking folder. "_Da_, he is the one." Was all he said before he became entranced in the filing of the folder.

Natalya rested her elbow on the arm of the leather chair, watching her half-brother intently as he went about his work. "He seems very…conflicting." She murmured thoughtfully.

Ivan looked up, closing the drawer in his desk that held all of his files. He folded his hands in front of himself, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. "Conflicting? What makes you think that, Natalya?" he queried.

Slightly startled by his sudden interest in her words, Natalya sat up quickly. "Well, I…from all the stories I had heard about him, I had just assumed that he would be a very, erm…'shady' man." She commented, praying that she had used the American adjective she had picked up in the correct context.

Ivan gave a soft chuckle, more out of amusement at her assumptions than her awkwardness. "Not every piece of gossip you hear is true, Natalya. Just because a man deals in illegal business does not mean he has to have a 'shady' appearance." He advised her, tinkering with one of the medals he wore on his suit absentmindedly.

Natalya gave a slow nod of understanding, then averted her gaze from her half-brother, trying to put her focus on other things, like the decorations in his office. After a few moments of awkward silence, she turned back to Ivan, meeting his violet eyes. "What is his history?" she questioned.

A long sigh escaped Ivan's lips, and he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes to remember. It was a habit of his that Natalya was told he picked up from his father. "His name is Alfred F. Jones…" the Russian began, his voice drawling as the information passed through his mind.

Natalya's eyes widened. "Jones? Is he related to Matthew Jones?" she blurted out, cutting off her half-brother in mid-sentence.

Ivan's brow lowered at her sudden interruption, but he refused to open his eyes. "Yes. They're twins, I am told. However, they are nothing alike. At least, I would hope not. The very thought of Katyusha marrying someone like this Alfred man disgusts me." He grumbled, his nose wrinkling in contempt for the young American.

Natalya's mind strayed to her elder half-sister's fiancé, and the more she thought of Matthew, the more she noticed the similarities between him and Alfred Jones. Their bright blue eyes were exactly alike, as were the shapes of their smiling faces. However, Alfred's hair was cut short so that only a few bangs fell over his forehead, while Matthew's dirty blonde locks fell down almost to his chin, masking his face a majority of the time. Natalya suddenly felt foolish for not noticing the resemblance quicker.

"But that is besides the point." Ivan dismissed with a wave of his hand, "According to my sources, Jones became involved in the smuggling business during this country's Prohibition. He is notorious for being to smuggle anything and everything without ever getting caught. From what I understand, Lovino Vargas brought him to our city when he and the rest of the Vargas family came, and was just waiting for the right chance to infiltrate our markets during all those years of 'peace' we had." Ivan's eyes opened on the last word, and quickly narrowed. Natalya resisted the urge to gulp as he glared down on the filing drawer menacingly, as if his eyes were burning right through it to reach Alfred and Lovino.

Ivan Braginski, despite his innocent and calm looks, was a very protective man. Ever since Natalya had been sent to live with her two older half-siblings, she had noticed this fact. He refused to share his city, its wealth, or his mafia with anyone else. What was his was his, end of story. The powerful Russian had experienced a rare, rare streak of hospitality when the Vargas family had settled in his city, for at first it seemed like it would benefit the Russian mafia to have another business in the town, whether they were involved in crime or not. However, the arrival of the Vargases proved to be a grave mistake. Six months after they had come, Ivan's men had started to notice holes in the city's markets. No one was buying Ivan's imported products, and very slowly, his profits started to fall. It wasn't long before Ivan discovered that Lovino Vargas, the more aggressive of the two heads of the Vargas family, had hatched a plot to smuggle in his own goods to sell at lower prices. Ivan came up with a very simple, easy solution to this problem.

Kill the smuggler.

"Rumor has it that Alfred Jones has a weakness for women. I want you to get close to him and kill him as discreetly as you can. Here is the address of a bar he frequents." Ivan commanded, pulling a slip of paper from his coat pocket and handing it to his little half-sister.

Natalya examined the paper closely, memorizing the address and name of the bar before standing to leave. Her next destination was now "The Top Flight" in the Eastern part of town, where the Vargases had made their base.

Just as Natalya reached for the door handle of his office, Ivan spoke her name. She paused, turning to look over her shoulder. Her half-brother met her gaze with a threatening look.

"I am counting on you, Natalya. Do not fail me." He spoke in English, the words sending chills down Natalya's spine. She gave a slow nod of understanding before departing from her brother's critical line of sight.

November 20th, 1936

11:07 p.m.

Eastern Outskirts of Hartwich, Washington

Getting into The Top Flight was easier said than done. Security at the bar was low; all Natalya needed to do was show a fake identification card and she was in. Physically _getting in_, on the other hand, was a whole different story.

It all boiled down to Natalya's old nemesis: heels. She could wear boots, sandals, flats, or even go barefoot and be fine. However, when four inch heels came into the equation, Natalya became the klutziest person in the world. As soon as she got into the bar, she ripped the heels off of her feet, shoving them up against the wall before turning to face her destination

The Top Flight was a rather interesting place. It was a fairly medium-sized building that doubled as a dancing club and a bar. The stage was just big enough to fit a small swing band on it (God, how Natalya hated that music), and the floor could hold about twelve dancing couples or so. The bar was long, and stretched the entire length of the building. Employees rushed up and down it, most of them female, leaving splashes of the beverages they carried on the counter.

Natalya carefully pushed her way through the small crowd that cramped the bar. She inspected each and every face she passed discreetly, determined not to let her target slip by her. She couldn't let Ivan down. He was counting on her to-

A loud, obnoxious laugh shattered her thoughts, and Natalya scowled, whipping her head around to glare at its source. When her eyes came upon a familiar blonde's bright and smiling face, she froze.

Alfred finished his miniature fit of laughter with a sigh of relief, patting a paler blonde-headed man beside him on the back. He gave his thick-browed companion a few words of what looked like encouragement, but even his irritating voice was lost amongst the murmurs of the crowd.

Natalya watched him carefully for a few moments, inconspicuously taking a seat on one of the barstools. A plan quickly formulated in her mind, and she cautiously removed the knife she had hidden underneath her skirt. Once Jones's companion left, she would try to make some small-talk with him before taking him by surprise and stabbing him in the back. After that, she would silence him and slump him up against the wall before slipping through the dancefloor to exit out a side entrance located by the stage.

Natalya waited for what seemed like forever as Jones and his companion traded news. She impatiently tapped her fingers on the counter, ignoring one of the bartenders when he asked her if she wanted a drink. She already knew they wouldn't have any vodka.

The pale blonde gave a heavy sigh and turned away from Jones, giving a casual wave as he left his side. Natalya straightened, making her way towards the American as his companion moved further and further away. She gripped the knife in her hand tightly, taking a deep breath before coming face to face with her target.

Alfred blinked, and he seemed surprised as first. Then, his expression lapsed into a flirtatious grin. "Well hey there, kitten. Aren't you a looker?" he teased.

Instantly, Natalya knew she would hate him. She resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose in disgust, and gave an uncertain smile. "You're not so bad yourself." She replied, speaking slowly to hide her accent.

"Well, thank you, kitten." Alfred said with a mock bow. He straightened slowly, giving a yawn. "So what's a pretty little doll like you doin' out so late?"

"Kitten"? "Doll"? American slang would never make sense to Natalya. "I've just been browsing around for a decent man to talk to." She sighed. Natalya mentally rolled her eyes. "Decent" was not a word she would ever associate with this man.

Alfred raised his eyebrows. "Is that so? I guess all the crumbs 'round here haven't been givin' ya' much conversation then, have they?" he questioned, giving a knowing smile.

"People in bars don't exactly make for good company." Natalya replied casually, turning so she could lean on his shoulder nonchalantly. She carefully brought her knife's tip in between his shoulder blades, preparing to strike.

"Heh, no kidding. Bargoers tend to get a bit rowdy sometimes." Alfred commented. Just as Natalya was poised to plunge the knife into his heart, his arm twisted around and shot out, fast as a viper. He grasped her wrist tightly, spinning her around and catching her other hand just as she moved to punch him in the face. Alfred squeezed her wrist mercilessly, and after a few moments of silent pain, Natalya let out a gasp and dropped her knife.

Natalya watched as her weapon clattered to the floor, and she scowled, turning to face her captor. Alfred smirked back at her, only inches away from her face. "And ya' know, rowdy just isn't my cup of tea." He chuckled.

Natalya struggled against his grip, spewing out every Russian curse she knew. "Let _go_ of me, you filthy pig!" she snapped before kicking at his shins.

Alfred laughed, moving his legs quickly to avoid her blows. He brought her hands down to her sides, then forced one of her arms behind his back. "Aw, c'mon. Don't be a pill, now. You should really dance with a guy before gettin' too close to him." He taunted, dragging her out towards the dance floor.

Natalya gave a growl of anger, desperately trying to step on his feet as they spun in circles. Before she knew it, the two were in an awkward waltz, moving to the beat of the music almost perfectly. Needless to say, Natalya was disgusted.

"If you don't unhand me right now, I swear to God I will-"

Alfred interrupted her with a loud yawn, and when a fuming Natalya tried to headbutt him, he simply leaned back, giving a sigh. "Really, kitten, just calm down. You're not the only one packin' heat here." Although he said this in a bored tone, Natalya knew it was a threat. She stared down at his belt, and tensed as she saw a pistol shoved into it, hidden by his aviator's jacket.

Alfred grinned when he saw her surprise. "Yeah, that's right. You're in a sticky situation here. You should probably answer some questions that I have, so I don't have to send you home full of bullet holes. I'd really hate to pump a pretty doll like you full of lead."

Natalya stamped down on his instep, and Alfred yelped, shuffling his feet around to avoid the next blows that came. After several moments of their odd dance, she saw that she was getting nowhere with him, and finally calmed, swaying with him as he lead her across the floor. "I will answer nothing." She stated firmly, making sure he realized that her submission in their waltz meant nothing for their words.

Alfred laughed loudly and pulled her closer, earning a hiss of annoyance from Natalya. "I already know a lot about you, kitten. You're Natalya Arlovskaya, Kat's little sister." He pointed out.

Natalya's eyes widened. "How did you-" She scowled when she came to a rather hasty assumption. "Katyusha has told you all about us, hasn't she?" she grumbled, mentally cursing her elder sibling.

Again, Alfred let out a cackle. "Calm down there, kitten! Kat may be my little brother's fiancé, but that doesn't mean she's got loose lips. She's one determined chick, that Kat. No matter how hard I try, I can't bleed any information out of her." The criminal pouted comically, and Natalya scoffed at him, turning away. "So, you're Ivan's moll, are ya'?" he questioned, moving her to the side to avoid a more experienced dancing couple.

Natalya raised her eyebrows as the unfamiliar bit of slang met her ears. "Moll?" she repeated.

Alfred grinned madly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Girlfriend, kitten. Are you Braginski's girl?" he reiterated before releasing one of her arms and sending her into a graceful spin.

In any other circumstance, Natalya would have found the moment he let go of her a prime chance to run away, but his last few words made her cheeks flush red in embarrassment. She came back to him and landed against his chest with a thud, thoroughly flustered. "Why would you even- I'm not- N-No! Ivan is my brother!" she exclaimed, hurriedly denying their relationship.

Alfred patted her on the back, giggling childishly. "Don't get so worked up, kitten. It was only a joke." He assured her, leaning in closer so that his lips brushed her forehead.

Natalya snapped to her senses as soon as they made contact, and she quickly kneed him in the thigh, narrowly missing his groin. Alfred gave a surprised gasp, to which she replied to with a satisfied nod. "American pig." She spat, staring at the ground to avoid his face.

To her astonishment, Alfred didn't laugh. He remained silent for a while, as if in a daze. The two were eerily quiet as they glided across the floor, slowly getting a feel for each other's dancing styles. Natalya had learned the basics of dancing when she had first arrived in America. She had found it difficult to focus on such a trivial art, though, after being separated from her mother and father so quickly, and because of this, she never really took to dancing.

It was evident there was a huge gap in Alfred's dancing skills and her own. He executed the steps easily and professionally, and his dominant technique completely took over her amateurish one. It was rather unnerving, really. Natalya felt as if she was being taken over by his movements, but at the same time she found herself swaying and stepping as he did, matching him exactly.

It was almost…enjoyable.

The silence between them, however, was gnawing at Natalya like a rat. She found herself biting her lip, feeling that the hush may have meant he was finished toying with her. The smuggler might have been gearing up for the kill as they danced. Unable to stand it any longer, Natalya broke the silence with a petty question. "Where does a criminal learn to dance?" she muttered, half to herself and half to her enemy.

Alfred picked up on the question immediately, and Natalya saw him give a warm, genuine smile out of the corner of her eyes. "Hey, I though I was asking the questions here." He prodded, sending her out into another spin.

Again, Natalya found herself coming back to him instead of escaping, like any sensible person would have. This time her return was careful, and she made sure not to collide with him as she had so clumsily done before. "I'm not answering any of your questions until you answer mine." She decided, lifting her head to stare him directly in the face.

A surprised look crossed Alfred's cool expression at their sudden eye contact. He quickly regained his composure and soon looked amused at her small act of defiance. "Does that mean you'll answer my questions, kitten?" he challenged, spinning in a circle to avoid a rather drunken-looking couple that stumbled around on the dance floor.

Natalya offered him no reply. She simply maintained her bold gaze, refusing to give in to him verbally.

Yet another of Alfred's laughs filled the air, but he quickly quieted, his face melting into a nostalgic expression. "I came from a real stuck-up family. We had a good bit of money, so my little brother and I were supposed to be a couple of aristocrats. Our old man expected us to be able to talk 'properly', dance formally, and a whole bunch of other shit. I played along for a while, but bein' all high and mighty wasn't my thing, you dig?"

Natalya frowned in confusion, and answered hesitantly, "Y-Yes, I 'dig'."

Alfred snickered at her puzzlement, patting her on the head as if she was a child. "It's a rhetorical question, kitten. But forget that. Long story short, the old man didn't like me, and all of his money went to my little brother. So now I'm makin' my own money." He finished with a shrug, "And that is how I learned how to dance."

Natalya furrowed her brow, scoffing at him. "That really didn't have anything to do with my question." She pointed out.

Alfred smirked devilishly and spun Natalya again, this time narrowing the space between them upon her return. "I know. I figured if I spilt my guts about my life, you'd let me hear about yours." He replied expectantly.

"You are the last person I'd share my past with." Natalya spat in response.

Alfred leaned towards her face, and she could feel his breath on her forehead. She moved to knee him again, but he saw it coming and quickly evaded the blow. "Come on, now, kitten. Just talk about yourself. Ain't that what girls love to do?" he pressed, squeezing her hand as if to give her encouragement.

The situation was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, and Natalya felt the blood rise up to her face in another blush. She found herself rattled again, only barely able to stutter out her response. It seemed that Alfred sensed her discomfort, for he slowly loosened his grip on her, pulling his face away from hers and watching her eagerly.

After taking a few moments to calm herself, Natalya inhaled deeply and began her brief story. "Katyusha, Ivan, and I share the same mother. Our parents were divorced because their father and my mother didn't agree on certain issues revolving around Russia's government." Natalya shifted uncomfortably before continuing on, "My mother met my father sometime later, and they had me."

"So how'd you end up over here, in the land o' the free?" Alfred queried. His words were teasing, but his tone was dead serious, as if he was intent on learning about her.

"My parents…disagreed with Stalin's politics, so when he issued the persecution of the _kulaks_ and began his purges, my parents were sent to Siberia as well." Natalya clenched her fist, unaware that she was clutching Alfred's hand in the process. "I was sixteen at the time. Before they were sent away, my parents helped me flee to America, where Ivan and Katyusha had settled with their father."

A long pause drifted in the air, and Alfred lowered his head again, but in a more comforting gesture than before. "Where's your old man and woman, then?"

"I don't know." Natalya quickly answered, shaking her head. "I haven't had any contact with them for the past eight years. I assume they're dead."

Alfred's gleeful expression fell into a depressed one, and as the waltz slowed to make a moving finale, he brought her into his arms, hugging her tightly. Natalya gave a half-hearted growl, glaring up at him.

"What are you doing, pig?" she hissed, her voice muffled by his coat.

Alfred laughed softly as she hesitantly pushed against him. It was strange how gentle his laugh had become, despite the irritating tone it still took. "Oh, c'mon, kitten. Ya' don't need to act all tough. Ya' gotta feel a little bit sad." he murmured.

Natalya shifted slightly, and she started to shake her head. "It doesn't-"

"Don't lie, Natalya."

As soon as he spoke her name, she knew what was coming was inevitable. No one had ever spoken her name in that way before. His high-pitched and sarcastic voice had deepened into a soothing tone, and the way her name flowed off of his lips so easily made her chest tighten.

Tears welled up in Natalya's eyes, and as the applause of the crowd roared in her ears, she buried her face in his suit, trying to hide from the critical gazes of the dancers around her.

Alfred gently patted her head, like she was a little lost puppy. The action infuriated her, but at the same time his affectionate touch sent a wave of ease through her body. It was a new experience for her, the warmth of his skin, the embrace of his arms. Even her parents had not held her like Alfred had. His form offered a safety she had never had, and the way he leaned his chin against her head made her wonder how anyone could survive without embraces like Alfred's.

Natalya lifted her hands to grab the back of the American's shirt, and her illusion of comfort was immediately shattered. Her fingers brushed against the gun he had in his belt, and she let out a small gasp, her eyes shooting open. She pulled away from him, and the full reality of the situation hit her.

She was sobbing to the man she was supposed to kill.

Natalya moved to step back, ready to flee the bar out of shame, but Alfred kept a firm hold on her hand. The band started up again as Natalya tried to jerk away from him.

Alfred pouted, his lower lip sticking out ridiculously. "Hey, kitten. No need to make tracks so soon. Will you stay for one more song?" he asked.

Natalya opened her mouth to reply, then she decided against it and shook her head. Again, she tried to leave him, but he held her arm tightly, as he had when they had first encountered each other. "Unhand me!" she fumed, slapping his forearm.

Alfred squeezed her wrist in response, forcefully pulling her back to his side. "Aw, c'mon! Just stick around for a bit longer! I won't hurt ya, I promise." he pestered.

The pitiful look on his face finally got to her, and the moment Natalya relented, Alfred swept her on to the dance floor. The song that the band now played was faster, a sort of jive dance, so Alfred had to move quickly to keep Natalya out of the way of the other couples. He quickly fell into the beat of the song, practically dragging her with him.

"Shake a leg, kitten!" Alfred encouraged, swinging Natalya into a spin. She quickly followed his lead, trying her best not to fall behind his quick-tapping feet.

Alfred chuckled when she stumbled, and Natalya glared up at him defiantly. She managed to slip in a quick kick to the shin, and the American yelped audibly, causing heads to turn. Natalya smiled and gave a soft giggle, but when she saw Alfred grinning at her, it quickly disappeared.

The two swung around the floor energetically, eventually falling into perfect synchronization with each other. The dance was extremely different from the waltz, but Natalya felt the same sense of comfort as the annoying American in front of her chuckled and grinned. It was odd, really, how a couple of dances had changed her view of the man. It was an undeniable fact that he was still annoying in Natalya's eyes, but at the same time he seemed much more open and genuinely gleeful. He seemed so much more...

Real.

Again, the strange couple of assassin and target found themselves winding down to the end of the song, and as the band struck the final cord, Alfred wrapped his arm behind Natalya's back, lowering her into a flashy finish. He leaned in close, so close that she could smell the faint scent of liquor on his breath.

"That was pretty good, kitten." the smuggler complemented, his sapphire eyes sparkling in amusement. Before Natalya could reply, he swung her back upwards, giving her one last twirl and then finally releasing her hand.

Natalya blinked in surprise as their fingers finally unraveled, and she found herself feeling somewhat disoriented without the touch of the American. Alfred turned away from her and took a few steps, bending down and lifting something up off of the floor. He held her knife by the very tip, waving it back and forth tauntingly.

"Y'know," he called over his shoulder as the dance floor slowly started to clear, "if you ever want another dancing lesson, I'd be happy to oblige."

Natalya furrowed her brow in confusion, and the American cackled in response in the same tone he had kept all through the night. He flicked the knife effortlessly behind him, and she caught it with snappy reflexes. What was he getting at?

Alfred turned his head slightly and winked at his dancing partner over his glasses. "You know where to find me." And with that, the American's broad-shouldered form melded into the crowd surrounding the bar.

Natalya paused for a few moments, still breathless from the dance and still in shock of all that had happened. She stared down at the knife, debating whether or not to follow her target and truly finish the mission.

But when the thoughts of Alfred's embrace and ever-annoying laugh came to mind, the assassin couldn't hold back her growing smile. No, she couldn't kill him yet. She needed a few more dancing lessons.


End file.
